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Dorothy was haggard and hungry. She had faced death multiple times in the past few days. First from the Kalitas, where she escaped leaping across a cliff on the back of the lion. Then they nearly lost Scarecrow to a rushing river passing through a poppy field. Both Dorothy and the lion, the only party members with lungs, nearly slept until they starved to death. Dorothy was dragged from the field by the tin Woodman in the lion by a thousand talking field mice, which Dorothy learned was a thing. Maybe that had happened. Maybe it had been in the poppy induced haze that the Scarecrow talked to the queen of the field mice, though Dorothy feared that it wasn't. Still drugged and famished, her silver shoes found the road of yellow brick up ahead on the horizon in the distance loomed the Emerald City. Dorothy took two steps and collapsed on the road. With the commotion around her, at first she thought she was back in Kansas. It wasn't that she loved Kansas. It was that she didn't know how she could live in a land with poisonous fields and talking mice and a man made out of tin, but who evidently still had some human parts, because how could he cry? Were there still human tear ducts in her brain in there and he just didn't realize it? She opened her eyes and saw the green roof and the Tin man and the Scarecrow pacing around her. She sighed and sat up. The drudgery in the hard gray ground of Kansas was preferable to whatever land this was, and she knew that she had to get home. She learned that they had made it not to the Emerald City, but to the land of Oz proper. They were in a farmhouse not a day's walk away, the owner informed them, a kind woman who managed the crops and the servants, who were of course, clothed only in green. Are you sure he'll see you? The woman asked. And the tin woodman asked why he wouldn't. The woman shrugged. He doesn't see anyone, ever. Not a person alive has seen the Great Wizard. Not even those who wait on him. For some reason, Dorothy had never thought to question the wisdom of the small woman who called herself a witch, accompanied by two Munchkins. Given that there was a wizard in this land, Dorothy, why shouldn't he see them? Dorothy joined the conversation as she devoured a dinner and asked more about the Wizard. The woman's husband joined them from the fields, and what they learned was maybe true, maybe little more than rumors. Oz was a wizard who could take any form he wished. Sometimes as a bird, other times as an elephant or a cat or a fairy or a brownie. What his true original form was, no one knew. The couple asked what the group wanted with the wizard, and they launched into their normal speech. The Tin man wanted a heart. The scarecrow brains. That was fine, in a far more disconcerting sentence. That can't be read as him simply being smarter or more caring. The group was further informed that he had a large collection of hearts and brains, all sizes and shapes. Sidebar if you ever meet someone with a large collection of human organs, run. He also had a large pot of courage in his throne room. It was hopefully at this that Dorothy, fully rested and with a full stomach, realized that these people who had great faith in their ruler were likely just making stuff up off the top of their heads. At any rate, they should be going. They thanked the couple for their hospitality and continued on down the Yellow Brick road. Then, far in the distance, they saw a green glow in the sky. After what felt like weeks of walking through, at best best farmland and at worst a forest full of dangerous animals and guys who repeatedly cut their limbs off with an enchanted axe, they saw it sparkling on the horizon. The Emerald City From Jason and Carissa Weiser, the creators of myths and legends. This is fictional. Getting in was easy enough. Despite the door being massive and barred from within, they evidently didn't think that any manner of invaders or Brighams were a problem, as the outside was studded with the biggest emeralds Dorothy had ever seen. Not exactly the most lofty of distinctions, as they were the only emeralds she had ever seen anyway. Dorothy pressed a button, also a first, and a small bell rang on the other side of the door. The door slid inward, opening them to a grand room with a tall arched ceiling. A man walked forward, wearing green, of course, and the walls and ceiling matched him in their emerald hue. Dorothy couldn't tell whether it was the light in the room or the man himself, but even his pale skin seemed to have a greenish hue to it. Glancing up at the human girl, slightly taller than him, a sentient sack of straw, a talking lion, and some sort of grievous tin human abomination. The man apparently was not put off by any of that. He only wanted to know what they wished to accomplish by coming to the Emerald City. We come to see the great Oz, dorothy informed the man. At this he was surprised, so surprised that he looked at them, the floor, then back to them, and then had to take a seat on a nearby stool. It was also green. They let him sit in silence until finally he looked at them pensively. It had been some years since anyone asked to see Oz. He was powerful and terrible. If you came on an idle or foolish errand to bother his wise reflections, he might be angry and destroy a person in an instant. Dorothy said she was sorry she thought he was a good wizard. So he is the green man nodded with a smile. But I mean summary executions. Yes, he rules the Emerald City wisely and well, but to those who are not honest, who approach him with curiosity, he is most terrible. In fact, few have ever asked even to see his face. But all who ask must be taken to the palace, so that's what we'll do. First, though. He popped open a box at his side. You'll need to put these on. These were spectacles. Glasses. They're for protecting yourself against the brilliance of the Emerald City. It would blind you otherwise, the man said as he took out the different styles and fitted one to each face of the party. When it got to Dorothy's, he parted her hair and locked the glasses on and back. Even Toto got a pair. The first thing Dorothy noticed was the green everything was green. The second was that she couldn't get the glasses off if she wanted to. The strangeness of the former served only to moderately soothe the panic of the latter. With that, the door to the back of the room to the wonderful city of Oz was opened. Houses and pavement made of green marble, all studded with emeralds. The window panes were green glass, the skin of some of the people seemed to have a greenish hue, and even the sun and sky were green above the famed Emerald City. Dorothy might have wondered how much work these green glasses were doing, and what else the city might be trying to sidestep with its potential humbuggery. But it's if such concerns were there, they were tamped down by the girl's wonder at what she was seeing. She had spent her whole life on Henry and Em's farm. She had been to Kansas City once when she was a toddler, but her only memories were a hot and packed streetcar, Uncle Henry swearing under his breath and leaving the city as quickly as possible. This though all these people living so close to one another, everything built so high and beautiful shops for everything you could want. It was amazing. And above it all, the castle towered. It seemed to be hewn from giant emeralds and polished to a sheen, rising up until it touched the blue green sky. As they approached, a soldier in a green uniform, surprise. Sporting a green beard, looked to the Guardian of the Gates, who explained that these four were there demanding to see the Wizard. The soldier took the request in stride. He would present it to the wizard and report back. Okay. What was that? The Cowardly lion said when they were all finally together? They had each seen Oz, the great and powerful Oz, the wizard that ruled this strange country. But they had seen him Separately, in fact, for all of them. The only thing that was similar was was his command. Kill the Wicked Witch of the West. They had passed each night in their own separate rooms. Dorothy and the lion slept. The Scarecrow stayed up all night staring at a spider. His eyes were painted on and he couldn't close them. The Tin man, reminiscent of the days when he had flesh that needed rest and could feel, laid down on the bed and passed the night with his eyes closed, as he normally did. On the first day, Dorothy met with Oz and came away stunned. On the second, Scarecrow bumbled into the throne room and saw a woman dressed in green silk sitting with her legs crossed over one arm of the throne. She had wings coming out of her shoulders that were so light that they fluttered even if the smallest breath of air reached them. On her head was a jeweled crown. The Scarecrow was as confused as he was awestruck. This wasn't what Dorothy described. Still, he bowed and the woman's voice rang out, beckoning him closer, demanding to know why he dared approach Oz. He said he was only a scarecrow, but he had come seeking brains. He wanted brains in his head so he might become as much a person as anyone else. Why? The woman asked. Why should she do this? He said because Oz was wise and powerful and because no one else could help him. The woman sat back with a smile, saying she never granted favors for nothing. If he wanted brains in his head, he needed to kill the Wicked Witch of the West. Wait, what? The woman sat up and laughed. Yeah, no one got something for nothing. So the wizard needed the Wicked Witch of the west dead. He could do it and then he could get his brains. I thought Dorothy needed to kill the Witch in the West. The Scarecrow might have looked left and right, but his eyes were painted on, so this was really the best he could do. I don't care who kills the Wicked Witch, as long as she's dead, the woman said and waved for the Scarecrow to leave her presence back outside. Days later, as the group talked, the Tin man shook his head. He would have liked to meet with a lovely lady, but not for, you know, reasons. He didn't have a heart, remember. But he might be able to beg one from a sorceress. The wizard he met with was a giant shaggy beast with five legs and five arms. Its rhinoceros like head had five eyes and it was covered in hair all over. It was terrible, or would have been if he had a heart. Now it was just a bit of a disappointment. He had heard the Same thing. Or a similar thing. Help Dorothy kill the Wicked Witch of the west and he would get his heart confused. That murder, or at the very least, manslaughter, was a prerequisite for getting a heart. The Tin Woodman left to rejoin the others. The Cowardly lion, when he met with the wizard, had a ball. I should rephrase that. His Oz was a giant ball of fire. And he too thought it odd that to gain courage he should have to do something that required so much of it. Dorothy recounted her own meeting with Oz. For her, he was a giant floating head. Kill a witch. Dorothy looked off in the corner of the room. And what if she said no? The head laughed. Then she should remain in their land forever. It shouldn't be difficult, though. She killed the Wicked Witch of the east, who was not the Wicked Witch of the West's sister. Dorothy said okay. She never assumed that they were related. Well, good, because they're very much not Oz, the floating head said. Dorothy explained that she hadn't killed the witch willingly. It was actually her house that did it. It was more of an accident. But you accept the praise and adulation for her death going on a triumph through Munchkinland. You're wearing her shoes, the head rejoined. I needed to get home. This isn't my home. Dorothy began to grow agitated. I hate your country. I want to go home. Then kill the witch. The wizard bellowed. The giant head's eyebrows softened. It wasn't even wrong. She is wicked, tremendously wicked, and ought to be killed. Now go. And do not ask to see me again until you have completed your task at the remembrance of this meeting. Days later, outside the throne room, Dorothy wept. She had a better chance of waiting for another cyclone, and she didn't want to be a murderer. What should she do now? The only thing we can do. The Cowardly lion gazed forlorn at the stone floor. His eyes met Dorothy's through the glasses. They had to go to the land of the Winkies, seek out the Wicked Witch and destroy her. If they couldn't, he would never have courage. The Scarecrow would never have brains, the woodsman would never have a heart, and Dorothy would never get to go home. They were permitted to stay in the palace of the City of Oz to prepare Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman sharpened his axe and had all of his joints oiled. The Scarecrow stuffed himself with some fresh straw and got new paint on his eyes so he could see a little bit better. And a green girl, not too much younger than Dorothy brought them provisions. There is no road, the soldier with the green whiskers had said, for no one wished to go that way. Then how will we find her? The Wicked witch? Dorothy shook her head. The man looked at them with a smile. They didn't. She would find them, and then she would make them her slaves. Perhaps not, for we mean to destroy her, the scarecrow said as they passed over the threshold of the Emerald City, the western sky still dark in the early morning. Oh, you mean to destroy her? Well, that really. That changes everything. The soldier gasped. It does. Dorothy cocked her head. No, the man said, and slammed the gate shut. Then, from behind the gate, the group heard a sigh. The machinery creaked as the man opened it back up and looked at them, clearly annoyed that his clever exit hadn't worked out. I'm sorry, he said, but you can't keep the spectacles. He waved them over and one by one unlocked the glasses from their heads and took them. Still gonna die. He cried out when he was done. Not as good, but it was still something. He closed the gate and barred it. No one passed through it. No one came from the land of the winkies. Not anymore. And no one but the very brave or the very foolish dared to travel that way. Wolf followed Dorothy and friends on that fateful journey to the west, though not that journey to the west for all my myths and legends friends who made it over here. But that will be right after this.
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For at least the first part of the journey, Dorothy didn't see what there was to fear. There were rolling fields with soft grass and little flowers, and she was surprised to see that she was wearing a white silk dress. When she had left the Emerald City, it had been green, but that, along with there being no fields or cottages or dwellings of any kind, were the only strange things. They didn't know, however, that they were being watched. Far off in the west, a woman strained her good eye. That's not to say her other one was bad, but this one was very good. It was telescopic, and she could see Oz's interlopers from her castle. She glowered. Who did these people think they were, coming from the Emerald City into her lands? She blew the silver whistle that hung around her neck, and in a few short moments her tower was surrounded by wolves. There are four people on the road west. Go to them and as is your nature, tear them to pieces. The witch demanded. The wolves said, um, that was unfair. It was an unfair stereotype. Wolves are generally not dangerous to people. Quick sidebar between 2002 and 2020 here in our world, not in Oz, there were a total of 26 fatal wolf attacks throughout the world, and 14 of those were due to rabies. But this isn't our world. This was Oz. And there was about to be four more fatalities because these wolves, while not naturally aggressive, were being commanded by a witch. To their credit, they did encourage her to enslave them instead. And I realize that's not much credit if they're still advoc advocating slavery over murder. But regardless, the witch wasn't hearing it. She couldn't threaten a man made of tin or straw with a beating, and the others were a little girl and a lion, neither of which were known for being strong workers. No murder was better, so the wolves loped east to meet the party. Dorothy and the others made camp in the late afternoon beside a stream, and she and the lion ate and retired early. The sun beating down on them all afternoon in a land without any shade made for a long journey, and as they saw the forest up ahead, they didn't want to try to travel through it except in daylight. A theme in these books. And don't worry, we'll probably only do the first, as there are 20 books and L. Frank Baum was dedicated to not being bogged down by his continuity. So the other books deal with the Land of Ev, the Land of Ix, the Domains of the Gnome King, Maryland. That's Mary with an E, Dorothy and friends don't go like check out the Chesapeake Bay or whatever. Anyway, our son loved them a lot, so I'm familiar with them. A theme in these books is the fact that the Scarecrow can't sleep. He can't even close his eyes since they're painted on. And like we talked about earlier, the Tin Woodman is metal and doesn't need to rest. So while Dorothy and the lion slept at night, the others stay up and sit in silence. Which feels rough, but I suppose they didn't have phones or steam decks or anything, so they didn't really know just how bored they were. Except tonight they weren't going to be bored. The Tin Woodman asked the Scarecrow if he heard that, then looked. Wait. How did the Scarecrow hear anything? Actually, he didn't have any ears. How is your torso replaced with tin? The Scarecrow asked while they're on the topics of how their bodies did things. Oh, didn't know. Yeah, that's what he thought. But back to it. What did Nick Chopper the Tin Woodman hear? Wolves. And when Nick zeroed in again, he gasped, somehow without lungs because the wolves were right there. A wolf exploded from the trees and Nick brought the axe down hard on its neck. Its wolf head tumbled with the inertia even as its body hit the ground from the axe blow. Wow. The Scarecrow said. And just like that, it's over. The Tin Woodman shook his head and readied his axe, looking to the 49 other wolves sprinting from the forest. Over. It's just getting started. Dorothy rose with a stretch. Even with sleeping on the ground, the rest had been a good one. She was out and oh my gosh, what is that? Oh, you're up. The Tin Woodman, still splattered in blood, smiled. That's a pile of corpses. You've never seen a pile of corpses? No, no, I have not. Dorothy grimaced. Wow. What happened? Oh, we were attacked by 50 wolves in the night and I chopped their heads off one by one. The Tin Woodman still had specks of blood on his tin teeth. Don't worry, I resharpened my axe. No, that's not what I was worried about. Dorothy exhaled. She looked at the pile of bodies and the pile of heads. He sorted them. I helped. The Scarecrow grinned, the blood having stained his sackcloth hands. Oh good. She shuddered. And then she looked up with a squint. What? What was that? That was a black cloud in the middle of a clear sunny morning. A mass floating in the sky, coming toward them. Birds. King Crow cawed out that they would peck out the traveler's eyes and tear them to pieces. Now, I haven't seen the Birds by Alfred Hitchcock, but I have seen two pigeons annihilated, dropped churro in a London tube station in about eight seconds flat. So I don't doubt that thousands of organized crows could do some serious damage to everyone but the Tin Woodman. Get behind me. The scarecrow stepped forward. This is my fight. King Crow accepted the challenge and dove he went for the eyes. But remember, Scarecrow's eyes were painted on, which seems like a curse if you ever want to close them, even for a moment. But it's really good in the singular situation where an allegedly wicked witch is summoning the King of the crows to peck them out. While King Crow tried, the scarecrow went to work of the crows swarming him. He plucked one after another out of the air and gripping its struggling, feathery body in one hand and its panicked eyes and beak in another, gave it a quick twist, sometimes hearing the small bones crack as he snapped each of their necks. Then he would let it drop. The crows were already starting to back off when King Crow panicked. It was paint. It was all paint. He knew he was a talking bird, but this was complete nonsense. How was this thing alive? Those were the last thoughts as the scarecrow's hands, peppered with the feathers of his fallen subjects, found King Crow's neck. King Crow fought, but he fell. 40 dead birds in all littered the ground by the scarecrow's feet before the swarm broke and scattered. It was over. But even the party didn't think that after murder, wolves and bird swarms, none of them were surprised to see the bees. In a fate worthy of only the hammiest, Nicolas Cage acting the Wicked Witch of the west, had sent a massive swarm of bees to sting them to death. Quickly. Tear me open. The scarecrow cried. I don't want to do that. Dorothy gripped Toto. It's fine. It's just my insides. I need you to pull them all out and cover yourselves in them. The Scarecrow demanded. Okay, I really don't want to do that, Dorothy pleaded. But the cowardly lion could see what he was talking about, and the bees were getting closer. With a swipe, he tore down the scarecrow's back and the straw spilled out. Does it hurt? Dorothy recoiled as the scarecrow Scooped out his insides and tossed them to Nick the tin woodman. No. Does it hurt for you? The scarecrow asked. Dorothy said she didn't know personally, but her natural aversion to having her insides ripped out indicated that it probably would. Why were they doing this? The scarecrow explained that the lion and Dorothy could hide under a straw while the tin woodman battled the bees. Ah yes, the bees. Natural enemy. Loose straw. They'll never see us under a thin layer of straw. Brilliant. The lion cried and the tin woodman began dusting them with the scarecrow's innards. Dorothy puddled under the loose straw with a lion, seeing the limp sack of scarecrow watch with his painted eyes. The man made out of tin getting stung by bees. She'd probably wonder where her life had gone wrong for her to deserve this. The bees were black bees, which I did not know was a thing, but definitely are. And black bees, like any other color bees, die when they sting, lodging their stinger and pulling out their own entrails in the process. That they were able to lodge their stinger in a man made of tin is all the more impressive and shows how their commander meant business. When again, 40 of the bees were lying dead like tiny pieces of coal at the tin woodman's feet, the rest fled. And yeah, maybe Baum meant to illustrate the parallel of the bees tearing out their entrails in aggression and the scarecrow tearing out his own entrails in sacrifice. And the bees dying and the scarecrow living. Who knows? What we do know was that the scarecrow lived. They spent the better part of the morning chasing down any bits of straw that floated off and restuffing the scarecrow before resuming their journey. A group of men approached them with spears around mid afternoon and. And then the group of men with spears ran away and the lion roared once. The tin woodman squinted, saying that those were winkies, the people the witch enslaved when she conquered the region. The witch strode over to her cabinet. Wolves, crows, bees. But the travelers were still coming. She didn't want to use this at all, but the people had bested everything she had thrown at them. She opened her cabinet and her hands found the cap. The golden cap ringed with a circle of diamonds and rubies. She had only ever used it twice before. The first time she was a humble traveler in the land and learned of the winkies. The cap put them all under her heel. Some fought, but the cap quelled their rebellion and destroyed all opposition. The second time was during the war with Oz the wizard in comparison, the human girl, a lion, and two nigh indestructible men should be of small concern. But she was worried. They had met with the Witch in the north, then Oz. And now, no matter what she threw at them, they couldn't be stopped. They merely walked past the corpses they made and got closer and closer to her castle. She put on the cap, the one that summoned a force none in the Land of Oz could stand against, the one that would be under her command. She only had to call to them. She stood upon her left foot and said slowly, eppe, Pepe, Kaki. Then next she stood upon her right foot and said, hilo, Holo. Hello. After she stood upon both feet, she cried in a loud voice, zizzy, Zuzzy, Zick. Quick note. That is all in the original. I could not make this up, though L. Frank Baum could and did, and then decided to put it down to paper and publish it. So here we are. The sky darkened. A low rumbling reverberated through the air. Sinister forms flew on darkwings as the twilight was filled with shrieks. Monkeys. Flying monkeys. The witch walked over. The monkey that was bigger than all the others bowed. You have called us for the third and last time. The lead monkey growled. What do you command? The witch turned and paced. There were four travelers on their way to the palace. The monkeys were to kill them all. Then she paused. All except for the lion. She had been watching him. She now had a mind to harness him like a horse and put him to work. Your commands shall be obeyed. The monkey bowed, his wings momentarily taking the place of his head. The others who had heard the grim orders nodded in obedience, and the sky was filled with their beating wings. They came for the Tin Woodman first, Dorothy had to assume, because he was a man made of metal and the only one in the group with a weapon before the cloud. The vanguard, they were faster, catching Nick Chopper under his arms and taking him into the sky. They wouldn't try to attack him. No one knew how strong his body was, was. No, they would let gravity do their work for them. With a clanging, mangled thud, the Tin Woodman crashed on the jagged foothills of the mountains. The rest of them descended in a moment. They hit the lion next, barreling him off his feet and looping ropes around his legs, mouth, and neck. By the time anyone knew what was happening, he was hogtied on the ground and the monkeys were on the scarecrow, first pinning him to the ground and then ripping open his back before pulling out the straw, tearing him in Half completely and throwing his limp, ragged remains up in a tree. Then they closed in on Dorothy. Dorothy stood there holding Toto, shirking from the creatures she had just witnessed brutally murder two of her closest friends in the world. And knowing that she was next, she looked to her left. The dull, flat eyes of the scarecrow hung lifeless from the tree. Dorothy hadn't known him for long, but his death was shocking. In everything they had faced thus far, there had been a touch of whimsy, like they were characters in a fairy story, like it was a dream from which he would awaken, watching the cloud of monkeys descend from the sky and tear open the scarecrow's back, pulling out his insides and fling him into a tree for the sun to fade his paint and reduce him in time to nothing. It was shocking. Squinting in the distance, she could see the Tin Woodman. He wasn't moving, his arms twisted and torn. The monkeys had skewered him on a sharp rock and left him there. If that didn't do it, the spring rains would seize his form and he would be left there forever. A man of tin whose greatest strength was his most dire curse. He would slowly go insane there, broken and alone. She wants the lion. Strangle the girl and we'll go, the monkey said. The loops in the lion's neck and paws cinched tighter. Toto caught a kick from the monkey who came to kill Dorothy, but found when he wrapped his long fingers around her neck, she couldn't be harmed. In fact, the more he tried, the more anguish he felt. The lead monkey inspected Dorothy's forehead. The witch. The. The one in the north. She put a charm on the girl. She's protected, Dorothy breathed. Protected from harm from them, but maybe not from her. They would take her to the witch in the west, fingers wrapped around Dorothy's arms. Just after she picked up Toto, as the ground shrank beneath her, three or four carried the lion and they left the scarecrow and the Tin Woodman dead, or wishing they were behind them for creatures that were going to kill her an hour ago. The flying monkeys set Dorothy down gently. We have obeyed you as far as we were able to. The Tin Woodman and the scarecrow are destroyed and the lion is tied up in your yard. The little girl we dare not harm, nor the dog she carries in her arms, the lead monkey informed the form that stood just inside the doorway. Why not? A voice demanded. The monkey said. They fulfilled every other requirement except those that were impossible. They were no longer under her control. The Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow were dead. The lion bound in her courtyard. The girl was here. She would never see the monkeys again. The monkeys, to a creature, flapped into the sky and took flight without so much as a goodbye. As far as Dorothy could tell, it did not seem to be a warm relationship. The woman stepped from her castle. The Witch in the west was short for an adult, and one eye looked at Dorothy while the other retracted. Her left eye was a telescope, and she was using it to presumably ensure the monkeys had done what she had commanded with the other two. When it was back in place, she covered it with an eyepatch. Her two pigtails stretched out from the sides of her head, seeming to defy gravity, and the rest of her hair was pulled to the top of her head with a bow like a baby. She wore a peacoat, a dress, and a permanent scowl that always seemed to hide the fact that her mouth had more gaps than teeth. She looked at the girl's shoes first, and Dorothy sensed rage from her expression, but also something else. Her cold hands lifted Dorothy's jaw, and the girl obliged as the witch jerked her head left and right, inspecting everything but giving special attention to her forehead. I killed your friends. The monkeys couldn't kill you. They were weak, too weak to resist me. Tell me, girl, do you like living? Dorothy nodded. Yes, of course. Then you will do exactly as I say. The moment I am displeased with you, you die. Do you understand? And I won't make it as pleasant as the Scarecrow or the Tin Man's death. The witch grinned up. Dorothy obeyed, and together they went to the courtyard. There, some winkies were hovering over the lion with a knife. Cut him free. My chariot needs a new horse, she commanded, and as she did, she stepped back and closed the iron gate. One winkie rolled to an unconscious stop in front of the iron door, while the other slammed into the stone wall with the explosion of paws. The moment the lion was free, he roared that he would never serve her. Then you won't eat. You will wear my harness and pull my chariot, or you will starve. Come, girl, the witch said, and Dorothy obeyed, taking one look back at the lion, staring at her mournfully from the courtyard. He can eat the winkies, for all I care. But he won't. The witch opened the door to the kitchen where Dorothy would be spending her time in the palace. Over the next few days, Dorothy understood two things. That she would never return home to Kansas, and that if she stepped out of line even once, the witch would beat her with the umbrella she always carried until there was no more Dorothy left to beat. Or so she said. The girl spent long hours in the kitchen preparing food for the Witch and gruel for her enslaved winkies. The Witch seemed to take an oddly intense joy in watching Dorothy work, her silver feet going this way and that throughout the kitchen. Thankfully, she didn't watch at all hours, and at night, Dorothy could sneak porridge and bits of meat out to her friend the lion in the courtyard. This kept him from starving and fueled his resistance, though for how long, neither of them knew. Some of the winkies spotted her one night and she feared the worst, both for herself and the Lion. But the enslaved men seemed to look through Dorothy. The next morning, before the Witch arrived, she found a singular key under the deliveries. It was a key to the courtyard, where instead of the ash heap next to the fire in the kitchen, the Dorothy could curl up in the warmth of her friend and both could dream of somewhere far away. Dorothy tripped. The batter flew all over the stove and her shoe tumbled off. She sat up, looking at the swept and empty stone floor. All the stone edges were flush with one another. How had she tripped? Running her hands along the stone, she found an invisible broomstick there in the middle of the kitchen floor. Who puts a. She heard a gasp, and the Witch's peacoat enveloped the silver shoe. Dorothy stood up, all lopsided. Now. What are you doing? Give me back my shoe. Her fingers grasped the air. No, it's my shoe now. Mine, the Witch said, then looked at the girl. She would get Dorothy a pair of cloth shoes and she could take the silver one off, so she wasn't all lopsided. Dorothy stood. It seemed like the Witch really wanted the shoe. Okay. The Witch's too few teeth formed into a grin. Take it, Dorothy said. I don't want to give it up, but if you can take it from my foot by force, it's yours. The Witch hesitated. Dorothy grinned. That's what she thought. The Witch couldn't do anything to her, just like the monkeys couldn't. She didn't know what it was, but there was a power that held the Witch at bay, something she was scared of. There was a terror, only slightly masked, that ran underneath the Witch's facade. Dorothy knew the look because she had been hiding her own terror every day since she found this land, since her house lifted from the ground and she landed here. I will get that other shoe. I will break the spell that binds you. The Witch sneered. Then I will break everything. Your friend, the lion, the little creature that follows you around and Then finally, your bones. You will all end up like the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. Dead eyed, dead. Begging for death before the end. Dorothy's rage grew. It wasn't her fault that she was here. The wizard had asked this impossible task of her. All she wanted was to go home. And now her friends were dead or enslaved. And she knew no matter how protected she was, this witch was cunning. Still, the mention of the Scarecrow brought back his withered, empty form, his painted eyes for the first time since she had known him, not brimming with life. Dorothy attacked, or tried to. The winkie who could unlock the knives. One of the Witch's more trusted slaves wasn't freed until the afternoon. The broomstick was invisible. All she had was the bucket she was about to clean the floor with. She gripped it and swung it at the witch, forgetting that it had been full. The wood of the bucket caught the witch's forehead, but she recovered from that pretty quickly, long enough to scream. She was dripping wet from head to toe. Dorothy stood, furrowing her brow. That was an outsized reaction to getting wet. Yeah, it was annoying and uncomfortable, but the screaming. The Witch just kept going too, like she was burning. She wasn't burning though. She was melting. Look. See what you have done? In a minute, I shall melt away. The witch cried, holding up a hand, watching first the skin, then the bone melt and dribble to the floor. What is happening? Dorothy shook her head, looking for anything to help, but she had no medical training, and even if she did, how do you stop a witch from melting? Didn't you know water would be the end of me? The witch's eye glared at the girl as her face began to drip away. No. Why? Why would anyone think that? Why do you even have a bucket of water in your kitchen if it's so dangerous? Well, in a few minutes I shall be all melted and you will have the castle to yourself. Just like you wanted. The witch sneered. Her voice was already growing garbled when she shook her head. I have been wicked in my day, but I never thought a little girl like you would be able to melt me and end my wicked deeds. Look out, here I go. Dorothy could only stand and watch, silently glad that enough of the witch had melted to cease her narration of her own death. And she stayed with the woman. She had enslaved a country, captured Dorothy and the lion, and killed the Tin man and Scarecrow. But it was the decent thing to do, to stay with her as she went. Once the witch was little more than a slimy mass on the floor. Dorothy filled another bucket and washed her away. Not because she cared about the castle, she was getting out of there the moment she was able to, but because she wanted the shoe back. The silver shoe evidently held some power. She might need it. Dorothy didn't know if the Wicked Witch had weakened the blessing on her forehead, and she might need the shoes if she was going to survive. She sighed as she dunked the shoe and put it on her foot, the water wetting her sock as she flicked the last bit of Witch away from the keyring. She hadn't wanted to do it. She hadn't tried to do it. But she had done it. She had killed the Wicked Witch. And now she will be able to go home. That's where we'll leave things this time. Next time on the season finale of Fictional we will finish the Wonderful wizard of Oz. Fictional is by Jason and Carissa Weiser and our theme song is by the Amazing Breakmaster Cylinder. Today's story was adapted from the the Wonderful wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum. Thank you so much for listening and we will see you next time.
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